


What say you?

by LiteratiGeek



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Cowgirl Position, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Hair-pulling, Missionary Position, POV Female Character, Royalty, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteratiGeek/pseuds/LiteratiGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens behind the closed door of the bed chambers of Count Rolf De Normandy and his wife stays there. </p><p>(And honestly his wife would prefer it to never be there in the first place.)</p><p>The progression of Rollo and Gisla's relationship through the actions of their bed chambers from their wedding night onward. Told primarily from Gisla's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I couldn't think of a better term for a medieval fork and didn't feel like spending time to look it up*
> 
> I have been super pumped for this couple since season 2 when I found out Rollo's historical legacy. While I hope this is the first marriage on the show to have a happy ending and they turn into a high class power couple of epic proportions. I am really realistic when it comes to the times and what would slide and what wouldn't. Above all I love my beautiful drunk viking but I understand that Rollo, while he has arguably the best character arc on the show, is still an asshole (and I love him for it). 
> 
> Additionally, I'm currently roleplaying Gisla on tumblr as APrincessOfTheBlood

She was stuck. On one hand, she no longer wanted to be here; next to the beast she was just forced to marry with his heathen people’s voices ringing in her ears. On the other, to leave would mean to be alone with him, to be escorted to the chambers where she would be forced to spend her wedding night. With a deep breath, Gisla stayed her place.

In her eye line, which had been fixed on the table before her for some time now, was her husband’s forearm. His hand was large, calloused with faint scarring that seemed to pepper his entire person, or from what she had seen of it. About his wrist was a band she had not paid much notice to before. It was a delicate looking thing of braided metal. It did not look the same as those worn by the men of the court, perhaps it was particular to his people. If she cared enough for him, perhaps she would have asked of it.

Her gaze followed the length of his arm, until his features were in her sight. She noted her husband was at least civil enough to use the utensils provided to him, unlike the rest of his people who seemed content with their fingers. His entire focus was on his food, allowing her the moment to watch him. Yet, unprompted she soon looked away, fearful he might catch her in the act. Her gaze stopped on her father at the table just below the bride and groom’s. He returned the gaze and gave her an encouraging smile and a nod, which she replied to with a scowl and looked back at her plate. Her food remained untouched.

The sound of wood scratching stone filled the hall as tables and benches were eventually pushed to the sides to make more room about the center. Gisla’s eyes rose almost immediately, an inaudible no about her lips as she recognized the preparations. She looked to her father’s table once more to see Odo whispering in his ear and almost growled.

“What this?” She heard her husband question and looked back to him.

“The feast is over.” Gisla explained, eyes on the laughing crowd before them. “They will stay and dance and drink in our name…we are to leave.”

A group of rowdy young men had gathered at the base of her father’s table and was soon met by Odo. Gisla gripped the fork that until that moment had been left unused, as the group started towards the bride and groom’s table. Their chanting was arousing to the rest of the attendants, to Gisla it sounded a funeral march.

“What they want?” Rollo asked, nodding to the group.

“To _drag_ me to your bed.”

She had not expected to hear the hard scrap of wood on stone before the clattering of her husband’s chair. He rose beside her, his large hand coming down to cover her own about the fork. The mass stopped mere feet from their table, looking up expectedly.

His words were stern, bold against the walls of the hall, but they were in his own language and only his people understood for they called out in response to his words. Gisla looked up at him, brow creased by his actions. She was about to question him but he grabbed her arm before she could speak a word. She was pulled from her seat, the fork clanging to the floor, and forced into step with her husband as he walked about the table. At first she thought he was about to throw her to the group, but he walked past them and continued on his way to the doors, down the now cleared aisle of benches and tables.

She glanced back in time to hear her father comment on “eagerness” and quickly looked forward again.

The group was falling them all the same, apparently finding her husband’s actions thoroughly amusing. For each one of his steps, Gisla took two to keep up. She wasn’t one to stumble over herself, even if she was being dragged by a barbarian.

“Which way?” She heard her husband mutter, and realized he had taken off on this quest without knowing his destination. Gisla nearly groaned, she would have to lead the way to her own demise. She would at least do so with her head held high.  She yanked her arm out of his grip and moved to link it properly in his before turning down the proper hall.

The chanting echoed through the corridors, high pitched squeals mixed with chuckles; women had joined into the mass. The married couple shuffled up the narrow stone staircase, Rollo allowing his wife to go before him. Gisla paused at the landing, the chambers’ door was in sight from the staircase landing. She took a deep breath and kept her eyes stiffly on it as she made her way towards it. She stopped before it only a moment before her husband opened the door and allowed her entrance.

He shut the door, Gisla swiftly locking it just moments before the group reached it. A banging began against it, followed by more laughter from the chanting group. Gisla turned her back to it, walking to place her weight against the back of a spindle chair. Rollo stayed, his stare transfixed on the door.

“Why they here?” He asked, his brow creased as he stared at the door.

“To witness.” Gisla replied and glanced back at him. His gaze as turned to her, still questioning. “We are not truly wed until…we are truly one.”

Rollo looked back to the door, “They wish to watch?” There was disgust in his tone, a voice from the other side was attempting to quiet the group in order ‘to hear’.

“Merely hearing will suffice.” Gisla assured him, although she did not sound entirely pleased by the compromise.  She took a deep breath and moved to sit in the spindle chair before her. The end of the evening was inevitable, the crowd and thus her father and his subjects would not be pleased if the unification was not consummated. She could survive without insuring it, for days or perhaps weeks, but inevitably her marriage would need to be insured and there was only one way to do so.

But she would not do so easily.

She reached up, glancing at her reflection in the window before her, and began to process of loosening her hair. Each lock was meticulously untied from its proper placement and gently uncoiled. She could feel the eyes of her husband upon her, perhaps questioning why she was taking such care in a task. She paid him no mind. Each throng was set before her in a row. Each new loosened lock had her fingers brushed through it to relieve the tension more so. In all she did not know how long her silent protest took, but the group outside was becoming rowdy once more, calls and demands for consummation were beginning to be thrown against the wall along with derogatory insults of the pagan’s inabilities. To any other husband these would be lighthearted encouragements, but Gisla believed these were intended to be taken more seriously.

With her hair in tendrils down her back she rose. Her husband at some point had moved to sit upon the bed looking down at it closely instead of her, his boots lay forgotten on the floor. She glanced to the door before down at herself once more. Fingers raised to begin to unlace her top gown. She made slow work of it, feeling her husband’s gaze upon her once more, until finally the gown pooled about her on the floor. A swift glance was given again to her husband before she pulled the under gown up over her head. She allowed it too to drop, standing only in her shift gown now.

Her husband rose before her, his eyes on her even still as he moved from the bed. She took a deep breath, although only allowing her lips to part slightly. She would not allow him to see her nerves on the surface.

“You not want to be here.” He spoke stopping past even arms reach from her.

“No.” Gisla said simply, “However…it is my duty, our marriage is not truly accepted by God and man until we…are one.”  The man’s brow creased as he looked from her to the door and back.

“How they know?” He asked motioning to the door.

Gisla looked to the door as well, “I…am not entirely sure…I have never been on either side of the door.” She paused and looked back to him, “Hearing, I presume.”

Her husband gave a nod and began to unlace his doublet. She heard the sound of fabric tearing as his impatience got the better of him.

“I will not force you.” He said simply, eyes focused on his hands’ work. Gisla looked up to watch him, her own brow creasing as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“You are my lord husband, you have the right.” She replied simply. He shook his head, dropping the doublet to the floor.

“What say you?” He asked simply.

Gisla did not reply, merely looked him over, her gaze stopping on his own.  They were frozen there for a moment, until her husband began his slow walk towards her again.

“What say you?” He repeated, this time before pulling his tunic up over his head. Gisla promptly looked away. She glared at discolored spot of stone as if it’s difference offended her.

“If our marriage is not consummated, your side of the treaty is not held true. Therefore, my father would not be held accountable…you will not receive your lands, or men, or name.” Gisla replied, her words granting her new strength to look to him again.

“So what say you?” Rollo asked again, his brow raising as he looked down at her.

“Why should I say yes? I will never again hold such power…As your wife I will subjected to bend to your will…now you must to mine.” Gisla replied simply. She watched the rise and fall of her husband’s chest as he took a deep breath, his own gaze looking to the ceiling above them for a moment before back to her.

“You see us.” He began, “On wall, you see the fight.” Gisla merely gave a small nod, “What do you see?” He asked, “Men…” With this he put a fist to his chest, “And woman.” He added with a nod to her, “We fight by side.”

“I do not fight.” Gisla muttered and looked off to the side, “How could I trust such a statement…”

Her attention was brought back to her husband as he walked towards her once more. With a step, he sunk to his knees. She looked down at him in silence, he looked like a man in prayer before he tilted his head back to look up at her.

“What say you?” He asked in a matter of fact tone.  There was that smirk of a smile. The one that was plastered on his face the first day he stepped in court.

The silence lasted long enough the buzz of the crowd outside reached her ears again. And in a moment her jaw clenched. Her father had given her to this pagan, expected her to detest it and loath it all the same; and yet he had thrown her to him. Why should she not bed this brute to spite him?

“Very well…but be quick of it.” Gisla replied simply and stepped about him, making her way to the bed. She heard his footsteps following her, but dared not look back to him. She climbed onto the bed and sat back against the pillows, arms recrossing over her chest as she finally looked to him again.

“Quick?” He questioned, giving her a look. He looked off, brows raising before he began to unlace his breeches.

“Merely what you need to do.” Gisla insisted watching him. She heard a breathy response from him but no words reached his lips. The breeches were soon undone, the crowd outside had started a strangled song of some sort that would more likely be heard in one of the darker of the city’s streets late at night. He pushed the breeches to the floor and stepped out of them as he rose straight.

Gisla merely glanced, swiftly and quickly looked away again taking a deep breath. She heard the bed creak and turned back in time to see her husband kneeling on the bed. She watched him closely, his eyes…she focused on his eyes. Only once she had seen them as close as they were now, at the ceremony earlier in the day. She had looked then, but not appreciated; they were as green as the forests along the bank of the river.

He was finally above her, his weight distributed to either fist against the bed at her sides, his knees somewhere near her own. She looked up at him; she was a princess of the blood and she would not fear him, only pray that her God would forgive her for fulfilling her father’s wishes. She felt his breath against her lips, her own held back within her chest. Waiting.

She felt the bristles of his beard first brushing against the side of her neck, and then softly the press of his lips. Her own lips parted, her brow creasing in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Not make quick.” He replied simply and kissed her neck again. She took a deep breath at this, body shifting under him; towards him or away she was not sure. “They not hear if quick.” He added, his hand moving to grab her arm. She supposed he would know more than she, but all the same she did not want to trust or believe him.

At first, she had thought it a mistake, a brush of the hand not meant to last. Until she felt it again, and then it was followed by the press of flesh against the inside of her thigh. She squirmed, moving away from the touch, if he wished to rest his hand there she would not suffer the distracting brush. But the hand moved with her own and then further up it travelled.

“What are you doing now?” She hissed, leaning her head away from him, brow furrowed in confusion and annoyance. A groan issued from her husband as he raised his hand looked down at her.

“You not ready.” He said simply.

“I told you I did not care if I was ready, or if I wished to have you, be quick of it!” Gisla snapped, why was he so insistent on such matters. Rollo sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and shook his head.

“Not…” He took a deep breath, green eyes looking down into hers again as he shifted his weight once more. He removed his hand from between her legs and brought it forth between them. She watched then as he opened his mouth, ran his tongue along his middle fingers and then promptly returned it between her legs. She gasped, in reflect her hand rising to slap the heathen’s upper arm. The reaction merely caused her husband to chuckle. He was disgusting.

“You thank me later, hurt without.” He replied simply and leaned his head down again. She closed her eyes in turn, the curses running through her mind faded as the man began moving the hand that before had merely been pressed against her. What God would allow such hands, that before she had seen slaughter noble men so skillfully, to also cause such sensations of warmth and…pleasure?

No it was a sin, this was not the purpose of this act…

“Just…” Her words were cut short. Her breath had left her and would not return to allow her to continue. She felt as though she had drunk too much wine, and all the same as if she wished for something out of reach. The pressure was lifted, and to as much surprise to her as he, a gasp rolled past her lips.

And for a moment she had half a mind to demand it’s return before a new pressure was delivered.

Her hand raised to grip his arm, her lips stayed parted in silence. She felt him within her. The deed now done, the marriage consummated. She applied all the pressure she felt into his arm, her fingers tightening their grip for a moment more as she felt him shifting. His head raised just enough to feel his beard against her ear.

“They need to know.” He reminded her in a groan of a whisper. She finally let out the breath she was holding, feeling him move his hips back. For a moment she thought that was it, until he moved his hips to meet hers again. She gasped softly, but knew it would not be enough for their audience to hear. It was nauseating to try to focus on what the brute above her was doing to her, and all the while worry of the reaction of the group of people outside the bedroom door.

She had heard the calls of women from the brothels, knew the group outside the door would be waiting on something similar, and suspected she could repeat it.  All the while, as she planned her husband finally moved again, and all plans diminished from her thoughts. The people on the other side of the door diminished.  She reached up, her free hand moving over his shoulder to tangle her fingers in his hair. Another sharp thrust and she gasped again. His hand moved to grip her thigh and pulled her leg to press against his hip.  She had no idea why he did this, for a mere moment she questioned it, and then never thought of it again.

His heated breath grew heavy against her neck. His hips were fighting a winning battle against her contempt. The grunts and groans that peppered the silence of the room grew louder, peaking her curiosity once again. She felt the hand against her leg tighten and nearly called out herself, until even her thought was drowned out by his call. She felt him move from within her rather quickly, and then shortly after his body relaxed against her.

After a moment, she believed he took to catch his breath, he raised his head to look at her. So, that was it. He moved to sit upon his knees between her legs and looked down. He reached down, tugging her shift gown down from where it had been pushed up to her hips. It was then, as his hand brushed against her, that she realized there was now a liquid of some sort covering her thigh. She sat up straighter to look down herself, but as she did he moved as well.

He caught her attention and she followed him with her gaze. As he walked about the bed he grabbed his tunic from the floor and pulled it on over his head. It was long enough to barely cover him, any movement of his arms would reveal him from both sides. Without breaking stride he continued to the bedroom door, and to her dread unlatched it. As soon as the door was open the small crowd still outside the door broke out in cheers and jeers. Her husband remained silent, leaning out the door for a moment before stepping back.

In the threshold was Count Odo himself, still dressed from the wedding ceremony. He looked up at the brute, and quite simply asked, “Well?”

“Done.” Rollo replied simply and lowered his arm from its resting place against the frame. Count Odo looked into the room, his eyes falling on Gisla. She realized then she had not moved from her place upon the bed, even her legs remained apart with her knees propped up.  She reached out, grabbing a pillow from her side and held it against her chest, having enough mind to remember a shift gown’s fabric left little to imagination. Count Odo finally looked away with her movement and looked to her husband once more before stepping into the room.

Her husband followed him closely, first with a turn of his head and then by matching the shorter man stride for stride. The count stopped by the bed, looking over the princess as if to inspect her.

“Princess.” He greeted with a bow of his head, “You are well?” He asked as if they met over morning fast.

“Yes.” Gisla replied simply, shocked by his casual tone upon seeing her in such a state. He did not meet her gaze long, his was attracted to the fabric of the mattress between her feet. He placed a hand against the bed, pressing it down to capture the light from the nearest wall sconce. Gisla saw his gaze raise and moved the pillow against her lap forward, pushing her shift further down. This caught his attention as Count Odo raised his head to look at her.

“I shall inform the emperor.” Odo said simply, looking at the pagan once more before turning completely and walking back to the door. Rollo followed, closing the door as soon as the man had passed back through the threshold. The latch was drawn loudly.

“You knew to seek him…to prove it had been done.” Gisla noted watching as he made his return to the bed.

“They tell me some things.” Her husband replied with a shrug. He was now at the foot of the bed, and suddenly Gisla moved.

“I will not be lying in your seed all night.” She snapped and scooted to the other side of the bed. She heard her husband let out a heavy sigh, but he redirected his path to the side of the bed. He reached out, grabbing the cloth that would be used to dry one’s hands from the washbasin and used it instead to wipe the bed and tossed it to the floor behind him.

The bed creaked as it took his weight again, and Gisla silently turned to lay with her back to him. The room grew silent, Gisla staring out across from her to the iron bars lining the window. Was she to feel different? Such a sacred act, and she felt nothing was now amiss. Perhaps it did not count if it were with a pagan? Another thought plagued her. Why was such a thing condemned as a sin, and one so tempting to so many? She supposed she could understand men’s desires but she had heard courtly women whisper of such acts, but could not believe the source of such desires. From what she had experienced, it was not worth an eternal damnation in hell.

She felt the weight of the bed shift again and quickly called back over her shoulder, “Stay where you are.”

The light diminished, and the weight was returned.

“Do not worry, princess…not until you wish.” She heard her husband say.

“I will not wish.” Gisla snapped, closing her eyes on the off chance she would see his reflection in the window across from her.

“Not until you wish, again.” Her husband replied, and his chuckle filled the bedroom.

She glared though no one saw. She would not wish…again.


	2. Wifely Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive. This is a product of my wonderful partner in crime (and roleplay) taking a hiatus and thus I have had no outlet for my Rollo x Gisla feels. In fact, I owe inspiration to her (hardazbrodir.tumblr.com) mainly because we had a thread with many of the same elements of this chapter (except ours was a lot more fluffy than this chapter). 
> 
> I feel like I might be too realistic/cynical for a shipper. This took the first chapter and went one step further. By this point, Gisla and Rollo have been married for a time. They're still living in Paris. Rollo's up to short conversational Frankish. Gisla's thought about killing her husband and realized after failing, it's probably not the most pragmatic of options; so for now she'll glare at him any chance she gets and blame all her misfortune on him.
> 
> I realize this is a lot shorter than the first, but take out the wedding sequence and it's pretty comparable.

She was exhausted.

Yet, she had not intended to fall asleep as she had. She merely wished to rest for a moment before readying herself for bed. In truth, she would be disappointed that she fell asleep at such a time. It was one of the few nights that she arrived in her bedchamber before her husband. She enjoyed the time to herself, without her husband’s presence bearing down on her.

And it was his presence that woke her; the sound of the door closing behind him, to be exact. She stirred for only a moment before sitting up, having not expected to have fallen asleep let alone to be woken by her husband. She looked over her shoulder curiously, thinking perhaps that she might find her husband looking back to her. It would permit her an excuse to glare at him for having found her in such a state. As if it were his fault and not hers.

With a heavy sigh, she reached to the back of her neck, pulling at the leather strap that tied the neckline of her gown closed. Typically, this was a simple task, tonight it appeared to be less so. Instead of loosening, the strap tightened on itself.   Gisla attempted to pull the gown off despite it, only to find herself almost stuck. This same misfortune had happened before, and had taken several minutes of focused concentration to unknot the strap.

She didn’t have the patience or concentration for that tonight.

She looked about the room, the only aide in attendance was her husband; having already taken off his leather jerkin he was down to a simple tunic untucked from his trousers. She chewed her lip, debating on the consequences of asking for his assistance. The smug look on his features in her mind was enough to cause hesitation. And in that time he made his way to their bed, sitting himself at the foot of it to take his heavy boots off.

Gisla watched him for a moment before moving to the spot beside him. She was silent, watching him as practiced hands unlaced the first boot before he dislodged it from his foot and tossed it to the edge of the room. He must have felt her presence, and in truth, he did; he merely ignored her through the first boot to spite her.

“Husband,” She spoke up, his title was easier for her to speak than his name.

“Hmm?” He replied, he had grown accustomed to her games. He knew she wished to speak, but was staying silent in spite. Thus, he would ignore her in spite just the same. In all, he found amusement in it.

“There is a lace…at the back of my gown…it is knotted.” Gisla explained; seeking assistance without truly asking for it.

Rollo looked to her, eyes roaming over her, before with a heavy sigh he pushed himself to sit behind her. Typically, he would fight such an assumption; that she wouldn’t even ask properly. He was too tired himself to fight with her over it.  He tucked a foot under himself, allowing the other to hang over the end of the bed beside her. She tucked her chin to her chest and moved to brush her hair over her shoulder, out of his way.

Calloused fingers, more apt at gripping the handle of an ax, worked to unknot the leather strap. For a brief moment Gisla worried that he would rip the gown. She questioned if he was done, to which he only replied with a guttural noise. Gently, the leather strap was loosened, the neckline of her gown slacked, and his fingers moved lightly from the leather to the soft skin at the base of her neck.

A loose strand of hair rolled under his fingertips as his hand roamed to her shoulder, pushing the fabric of her gown further down her arm. Gisla held her breath, muscles tightening as her back straightened at his touch. She still was not used to, nor did she expect such actions from him. He paused, questioningly his title passed her lips again, before swiftly he wrapped his other arm about her and moved her back to the bed. Only a quick noise of surprise escaped her before his lips crashed down to hers.

Her legs kicked out between his before his body moved over hers. Times before she had been worried he would crush her, but each time he took the care to at least take his weight upon himself. His hands moved, bunching her gown about them as he continued to kiss her. Finally, he pulled away, Gisla sure her lip was bruised, to pull her gown above her head and tossed it towards her trunk. Her husband looked down at her, resting on his knees above her.

He went about pulling his tunic off, tossing it to the end of the bed. “I wish to lay with you.” Gisla remained silent, attempting to catch her breath. Her husband had taken to learning the Frankish language. She knew she should have been proud of her husband’s intelligence, that he could speak another language was a triumph. Out of selfishness she loathed it; why should he share something that was hers? She preferred it when the language still confused him. “Do you wish to lay with me, wife?”

He always asked. Despite the fact he knew she would not deny him, knowing that even if she did he could very easily take her. Still, he made a point to ask each time; she supposed she should count herself fortunate for it.

“I wish to fulfill my duty as wife.” Gisla replied simply.

Her husband sighed, running a hand through his long heathen hair before looking down at her again, “Do you take no pleasure in it at all?” He questioned.

Gisla’s brow creased, “No” She replied simply. "I do not seek it. I wish to fulfill my duty as wife alone and bare you a child. Carnal pleasure does nothing more than spur sin...it is why it should be sought chastely even in marriage." Gisla explained as her husband shook his head. She spoke it as if by memory, for which she did. The abbot her father sent her as a private counselor in her youth had been insistent on the matter. Gisla believed the man had a personal weakness; in her opinion as a woman she would face no such fault. In truth, she received no pleasure from relations with her husband, and thus even more did not believe the abbot.

Yet, the words seemed to have an effect on her husband. He let out a groan, muttering to himself in his savage language before leaning towards her once more. His lips crashed to hers once more in what appeared as either an answer or attempt to cease her preaching.

She allowed him to do so. Much of their relationship was she merely allowing him to do what he wished in hopes he would leave her be. As she moved her legs under him she could feel his cock pressing against the fabric of his trousers. A shifting of her leg garnered a groan from her husband to her surprise. What pleasure he found in any of this she did not know. In the lesser of two evils she preferred it; once he had not been ready and went about making himself so with the use of his hand. The sight had made her thankful each time he presented himself to her without need of such acts.

His lips released hers and moved to kiss down her neck as one of his large hands moved between them. He tugged at the lace at the base of her chest ignoring the soft snap of the light fabric giving under his fingers. He was too large for her to push away and so she did what she supposed to be the only way to get him to stop before he tore her shift entirely. She moved her hand through his locks, fingers weaving into the hair at the crown of his head, tightening, and then tugging roughly. His head tilted back into her hand, his mouth parting from her neck as he let out a noise of discomfort. He had successfully loosened the lace that kept her shift’s neckline tout with only a few tears to the delicate lace.

There gaze met for a moment; she glaring out of annoyance and he out of discomfort.  She let go of his hair and moved to scoot out from under him. He reached to try and stop her, his fingers missing her arm but grabbing her sleeve. The neckline that could unravel to the size of the bottom hem allowed for Gisla to, without intention, slip out of her shift as well as out from under her husband. Rollo understood what was happening before she did and tugged to encourage the process.

Gisla glared over her shoulder before turning completely to face him. He balled up the shift gown as he sat up on his knees before her, eyes scanning over her as selfishly as a husband could. She moved her knees to her chest, crossing her arms above them. Rollo adored his wife’s body, when he was permitted to see it. She typically kept her shift on, and changed discreetly; either waiting on him to leave entirely or changing so she was bare the least amount of time possible.

He kept his eyes on her as he moved to the edge of the bed to take his trousers off. His thoughts stayed with her even as his actions were focused elsewhere. She was not rail thin like the slaves of the village he took in desperation. Nor was she strong like the shieldmaidens he had laid with. She was well fed, young, and spent most of her days at rest. He was almost mesmerized by the soft impressions his fingers made against her. He admired the small pouch over her stomach.  He enjoyed the curve her hips, even if he so rarely saw them.

Finally, his trousers were kicked to the floor and he moved back to resting on his hands as he crawled towards her. He stopped just before her, dark green eyes looking up into her chestnut ones. He paused and then lightly pressed his lips to the top of her knee. She let out a breath in reply.

“You are very beautiful.” He told her softly, his hands moving to rest on either side of her. Gisla did not know how to reply; she so very rarely thanked him. She was running out of space to keep her body covered by her legs as he moved over her. Inevitably, she unfolded beneath him. Her arms laying over his shoulders as his hips spread her legs to either side of him.

He kissed her once more, the fatigue she felt earlier setting in again. She felt his body press against her, his manhood now erect between her thighs. She assumed it would be over swiftly, she would feel her husband move within her soon. She felt the pressure of his hips move against hers and prepared herself, but felt nothing more. He merely pushed himself against her and stopped. She let out a breath against his lips as he broke away.

His hips moved against hers again this time with a low groan. Yet, still he did not move within her to complete the act. She turned to look at him, but he hid his face beside her. He rubbed himself against her once more and she could stay quiet no longer.

“Husband…what are you doing?” Gisla hissed. He pulled back to look down at her in silence. He seemed to wish to reply but stopped himself, Gisla stole the moment to interrupt. “I am tired; I do not wish to play games.”

He rolled his eyes and covered his face once more over her shoulder. His hand dipped between them and in the next moment, as his hips pushed to meet hers, she felt the familiar sensation of him moving within her. She let out a gasp, merely from the force he had used to do it, and laid her head back in an attempt to relax. His hand moved to hold her leg against him as he started the rhythmic motion of thrusting inside her.

Gisla could not deny the reactions her body often had to her husband during such activities. She supposed it was its nature. Yet, her thoughts were never aligned with them. She would distance herself, only to be drawn back by a groan or heavy breath from her husband. Rarely, she would issue such noises herself, involuntarily of course when they did occur.

In truth, the act was never long. Her husband would go about his duty and eventually spill his seed within her. No longer did he need to prove the act to anyone, his focus was on producing an heir and for that his seed never touched the bed cloth. Gisla had been given enough time without distraction that she felt the muscles of her legs tightening pleasantly. For her this was the small pleasure gifted during such times.

She never thought there was anything more to come with it.

Once his purpose done, as typical accompanied by a loud groan and his tension taken out on the mattress beneath them. He pulled himself from within her slowly and moved to lie beside her.

“You may sleep now.” He huffed and turned from her, pulling the sheet up from under him to cover himself with. Gisla looked down at him a moment before scooting down to lay opposed to him, her back to him in turn. She looked out to the window across from her, maneuvering the sheet to cover her as well. Her gaze dropped, searching for the shift he had taken from her. She saw his tunic on the foot of the bed but could not find her own. She detested sleeping naked, especially while sharing a bed with her husband.

It was silent for a time. This was until she felt movement from the other side of the bed. Weight shifted and the heat of her husband pressed against her back. Her body tensed, worry plagued her brow that he might insist upon _knowing_ her again. Then, unexpectedly, she felt his arm about her waist. She anticipated his voice, some concern or question issued to her, but none came. His heavy breathing filled the air about her and nothing more.  They had never slept in such a position before, she kept to her side of the bed and he stayed on his.

And yet she felt too tired to try and push him away.


	3. Unexpected, Unfounded, Unwanted Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gisla finds herself accidentally, actually liking her husband and doesn't really know how to handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW did this chapter end up being almost the length of the first two combined? I have no idea.
> 
> The good news is, my Rollo on Tumblr returned to me THE DAY after I posted chapter 2. I was scared that because of that it would take me longer to write this chapter, but turns out I might be consistent. 
> 
> I do have intentions of writing a chapter that takes place between this one and the previous one that deals with the matter of the night Ragnar's ships are spotted. I might way until I finish this series until I publish it. I think I referenced it enough you guys can guess what happened.
> 
> Now a warning. This chapter is the chapter I broke away from pessimism. Do I hope Gisla goes through something of this thought process on the show? Yes. Do I expect it to occur like this? Hell no. Do I want it to particularly be this quick? Nope, give me long drawn out realizations! But to go along with the theme of my series, this is how I have it happening. 
> 
> (**Afflicted = Period, in case anyone was curious or confused by what I meant by it. I had read a book where someone referred to it as "Stricken with Eve's Curse" but didn't want to get that dramatic with it.**) Also, I envision this to be many months after a brief time that they stayed in Paris, almost a year or more of marriage.
> 
> Hope you guys like it. I hope it's not entirely too OOC to span disbelief. I really enjoy reading all your comments, even if I don't reply (I'm horrible at taking compliments but I love them, go figure). I do, truly hope you enjoy.

Gisla had grown used to her husband leaving for periods of time; to go raiding for more land or to handle a tension between tenants. In truth, in the beginning she enjoyed the time. She was given reign of the castle and those tenants who sought advice. She was not in the constant gaze of her husband and could enjoy the privacy of their chambers to herself. The independence she had felt having arrived at her own household was only multiplied when her husband left it.

Yet, this evening she found herself perched against a window sill looking to the horizon. Her husband had left nearly a fortnight ago after word arrived that ships had been spotted off the coast. They were the ships of her husband’s brother Ragnar. The castle had heard word of the battle, and then of her husband’s grave injury. Swiftly after the second letter, a third arrived assuring the countess her husband was alive. And yet oddly, to her dissatisfaction, she worried.

What looked to be a herd crested the hill before the palace. Gisla recognized the look of the men and knew them to be her husband’s. She broke from the window and turned, racing without thought to the staircase that split the castle. She thought to find them in the back hall, but heard their voices echoing from the entrance hall. Typically, she would be annoyed by the most likely muddy and bloody men tramping through her entrance hall over the fresh threshes that lined the floor; but not a pricked thought met her mind.

She turned the corner and had just enough sense of self to straighten up and present herself as countess of the duchy and princess of the empire before any took notice. The large group of men, most of which were from her husband’s homeland, milled about in discussion with themselves. She scanned the men in search of her husband, only to find him towards the center of the crowd.

“Husband!” She called out, gaining the group’s attention in the process. A few men parted to grant her access. She gave them a small nod of the head before looking up to see her husband, a surprised smile playing on his features.

“Wife,” He replied, raising his chin. Gisla made her way towards him, with little thought to the speed in which she used. Rollo would insist she ran.

She met him swiftly, hands rising to rest against the leather that covered his chest as she raised herself to press her lips to his. The kiss was held for some time, Rollo in truth confused but not wishing to end it on his own account. Soon, her thoughts caught up to her and she pulled back. Unable to describe what had provoked her to such actions.

She had never kissed her husband before.

“I…missed you, husband.” She got out, unable to think of other words to say and assuming words were expected.

Her husband smiled once more. She had never truly appreciated the way his smile covered his features entirely.

“I missed you, as well.” He replied, wonder still in his tone as he looked to his wife. He was almost certain she had been overcome by some sickness of the head to be acting as such.

A maidservant entered the room, announcing the great hall was set and dinner would be served shortly. Gisla knew the men would not mind as long as ale was provided, and to be sure it would be. Her husband offered his arm and she took it, lost in her own thoughts as they made their way into the hall. She had barely spoken as they reached the high table, set up just below the high chair her husband took council in and her smaller throne to the side. In his absence, she had often had to stop herself from taking his own seat.

Gisla detested when her husband’s men would take control of the hall. With their ruckus drinking and habit of destruction; be it tables or windows.  This evening she held her place as wife of their leader in silent dignity. She sipped from her own cup, and fortunately was much too caught up in her own thoughts for the passing glare or roll of eyes that she normally gave freely.

Why had she reacted so to her husband? What could have possibly overcome her to be so grateful for his safe return? A season ago, she would have been thrilled with the news that her husband was gravely injured. She would have delighted with his limp and silently thanked whoever caused it. In truth, despite herself she had missed his presence. She had worried for his well-being. Now that he was once more by her side, however, she could not place her thoughts to why.

Still, she found time to nod her head and quickly answer questions her husband posed.  His control of the Frankish language had increased to such a point that Gisla could rarely find fault it in anymore. His questions were primarily of the wellbeing of the duchy and the people. He asked after her and did not seem satisfied in the least by her simple replies. He spoke of the battle; the ships had been his brothers’ and they engaged them for many days, fighting well. Suspiciously, the ships turned north, and after waiting for some days they felt assured the ships, and his brother, had merely left. Rollo assumed towards England.

 After a third man had attempted to hit the crest of Charlemagne upon a family tapestry with a toss of his ax, Gisla rose. Having had enough excitement, she quietly told her husband, she would be retiring.

“I will join you.” Was his reply.

“No, stay with your men. Celebrate your victory.” Gisla insisted, typically she would make such a suggestion to remain away from his presence, but that evening she wished to merely be with her thoughts.

“I have been with my men for a fortnight, now I wish to be with my wife.”  Rollo replied as he rose to her side. He announced he would be retiring; the men were free to remain until the casks ran dry of ale. The couple departed the hall to great acclaim, the noise fading as the couple retreated, arm in arm to their chambers. A part of Gisla was thankful for her husband’s newly acquired limp, it made keeping up with his pace much easier.

Silence settled in their wake as they entered their chambers, her husband opening the door for her and closing it once she was inside. Gisla had yet to settle her thoughts, to distinguish why it was she had felt such relief in seeing her husband. She turned to view him once more to find his cloak resting on a spindle chair and himself fumbling with a buckle of his leather armor.

“Let me.” Gisla spoke up and was once more caught off guard by her own words, followed shortly by her actions. She stepped forward and lowered her gaze to focus on her hands as she worked to undo the buckle.

She felt her husband’s eyes on her and she did not see fault in his confusion; for she was confused herself. Silently she worked, her husband’s voice working only to focus her gaze more strongly to her hands as they moved to the next buckle.

“Your words before, were they true?”

“I spoke many words.” Gisla replied.

“Did you truly miss me?” Her husband clarified. Her hands paused for a moment, only to soon return to their work.

“The bed grew cold in your absence.” She answered simply. She found her work done and finally raised her gaze to meet his, “And yours?” She questioned.

“Very cold,” Rollo replied with a chuckle before moving to pull his armor over his head.

“Truly?” She questioned, raising a brow; a new concern arising.

“Yes…” Her husband answered, eyeing her as he returned the armor to the top of his trunk.

“For there was a woman…of your people in the household who explained that often…when men of your land left for raiding they often took women in their wife’s absence to…warm the bed.” Gisla noted, glancing at him briefly before turning to stand against the back of her chair that she sat in to ready herself in the mornings.

Her husband’s heavy footsteps echoed in the chambers as he made his way to her back. She felt him a mere step behind her when he finally stopped.

“I made a vow to you…in a church…in front of a priest. The man I was would have easily done so, but not the man I am…I have tried to tell you this…”

There was a pause. She could just see his features out of the corner of her eye. She felt him move closer, one hand resting on the side of the chair her own weight was against, the other hanging loosely at her side waiting for invitation.

“Besides…none were beautiful enough to tempt me…for I have the most beautiful wife in the world.” He told her softly. Gisla’s brow creased but she did not free herself from his trap, yet.

“In the world? And how can you be sure of this?” Gisla questioned, causing her husband’s brow to rise. She had never indulged his banter before.

“Ah…for I have seen very many beautiful women, and I have been on very many battlefields. And I have been on almost as many battlefields with beautiful women and none before has ever stopped me by her mere presence.” He replied simply with a smirk of a playful smile.

“You remember such a thing?” Gisla questioned, having for some time wondered if it was in fact she he had been staring at across that wall.

“Of course, you are the only reason I made it to the top of that wall.” Rollo replied as if it were obvious. Gisla turned in his arms, causing him to straighten up instead of leaning towards her.

“You made it to the top of that wall to invade my city.” Gisla answered simply.

“No…no, my purpose was to invade your city, but my reason was to reach you.” Rollo smirked enough the dimple of his cheek showed. He was enjoying this side of his wife, no matter how suspicious it was. He was ready for her to revert back to her disdain at any moment.

“And what were you going to do once you reached me?” Gisla questioned curiously, moving to cross her arms against her chest. Rollo stepped back, releasing her with a thoughtful look as he considered her question.

“I had…not thought that far ahead.” He admitted before giving her a smile.

Gisla sighed before turning from him once more and retreating to her trunk. She could hear her husband undressing behind her. She herself went about unlacing her gown. She had just folded the smock to return it to her trunk when she heard his footsteps towards her once more. She felt his fingertips gently pull on the back of her shift, and paused briefly before acknowledging them.

She started to turn towards him, but her husband’s hands pulled her the rest of the way before she had a chance. His arm wrapped around her, pressing her chest to his now bare one. It seemed he had taken her behavior as an invitation to advance. There was a time she would have protested profusely, but among the countless other odd sensations filling her mind this evening; she felt no need to push him away.

“I have missed my wife…it has been some time.” Rollo noted looking down at her. She had to admit he was correct; a fortnight of his absence and a week more while she was ‘afflicted’. It had been almost a month since they had been one as man and wife. What would these new reactions to her husband mean for their time together that she had most dreaded in the past?

“Yes.”  She agreed, her gaze falling to where her hand pressed against his bare chest rather than into his forest green eyes.

“Would you lie with me, my wife?” He asked, leaning towards her as he spoke. She could feel his beard against her own cheek.

She took a deep breath and gave a small nod before she was able to speak again, “Yes.”

“There is something I would like for you to do first.” He added, the fingers of his free hand brushing against her elbow.

“And what would that be?” Gisla questioned, attempting to regain a since of self. She straightened her back, and rose a brow in question.

“I wish for you to kiss me, again…as you did before.”

She had merely kissed him. Nothing special, nothing noteworthy.  All the same, she supposed that it was the fact she had kissed them that made it all the more remarkable. Subtly she had begun to respond to his kisses, first out of instinct and then all at once the evening before he left. For it was his actions on the night he left that had sparked this newfound sense of admiration within her.  A crisis, the spotting of ships and before he took action he asked of her opinion; valued her knowledge of her father and his preferential handling of the northmen, and of her own kingdom and people. Even when she had disagreed with his men; he did not push her aside, but raised her to his side.

He listened to her voice.

She pressed her lips together. Before it had been rather easy, with little thought to her actions. Now her husband stood expectant and she felt a sense of insecurity in the pit of her stomach. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and attempted to replicate her earlier actions. Fortunately for her, she had only briefly brushed over his bottom lip before her husband returned the kiss in full force.

He kissed as if each one was his last. The full force of his body was behind each one and still she felt as if he had to forcibly hold himself back. Even after the briefest of trysts, she felt her lips swollen and more than once bruised by his aggression. It was not malicious; she assumed that was merely how he kissed. She had experienced no other, save her father’s gentle pecks of affection in her youth, and so these would be the only kisses she ever knew. They were hers, and hers alone. Her lips would know no others.

A gentle breath was allowed to escape her lips before his crushed down to hers once more. His hand pressed firmly to her hip clenched to grip her shift between his fingers. He took a step, and she mirrored it in turn. He took another and she almost stumbled before he raised her in his arm. It seemed such a simple act for him. Only briefly did his lips part from hers, only to meet them again as he took another step.

Such actions had never been taken before. Their meetings in the bedchamber had all before been out of duty. Only rarely did they not undress separately, to meet only after in the bed under the covers. She gripped his shoulder to balance herself, her free hand moving to his cheek. Her thumb brushed over the curved scar that ran from his brow to his lips, and as with each encounter she wondered how he came to acquire such a lasting mark.

 Perhaps this is what occurred in marriage, in one not forced or detested by either party involved. Then why was it occurring now in her own marriage? Did she no longer abhor the man before her?

She had missed him.

The thought of him not returning had frightened her as she never expected it to. He had listened to her as no other man had. He had praised her for more than her beauty or her title. In this marriage she had experienced life as equal to the dominate male figure in her life. He was a pagan, a heathen, he spit on her God and slaughtered her people; yet, without him her voice would once more be silenced. She would be subjected to a life much as she had lived before, only now with less value to her father having now already been married.

He laid her gently to the bed, leaning over her as his lips moved to her neck. His hand left her side to unlace his trousers. Her eyes closed, feeling her body relaxing instead of stiffening as it normally did upon his touch. She favored life with her husband. The newly found desire had yet to settle well with her. Could she possibly continue in disdain knowing she would prefer him there rather than gone? The mere thought of his face upon realization that she did not find him entirely intolerable was enough to keep her from aiding him in his current quest to rid himself of his trousers.  

She turned her head to chance a look to her husband. Perhaps seeing him again, to truly look at him once more, would remind her of the aggravated feelings for him she once held dear. She could hardly see his features but was able to look over his person. His hair was shorter now, having cut it some time ago to his shoulders; she had supposed at the time it was a show of good will towards her. Finally, she could admit it framed his features nicely. As he worked to loosen his trousers she watched the muscles between his shoulders move, although time had passed he was still as impressive as he had been on that wall.

Oh, this was a fruitless act.

Her hand on its own accord had moved to run the length of his arm. Feeling the muscles there run under her fingertips. She had never denied her husband’s strength, or form of body. But she had always attributed it to wrongful acts, a body built for nothing more than slaughter, not to be admired in the least. Even with the markings of his people still adoring his body she could see why a body such as his could have been immortalized in marble in the halls of her great-grandfather or in Rome, the most holy of cities.

His sudden movement from her caused her to flinch. Sprung quickly from her thoughts she moved her hand from his arm as he straightened himself from the bed. He had apparently finally freed himself of the trousers and went about pushing them down until he could kick them the rest of the way off as he climbed onto the bed once more. She craned her neck in an attempt to catch a glance of the wound that afflicted his walking but saw not, as his features soon blocked her view.

He kissed her again, his arm wrapping under her to bring her to his chest briefly before smoothly laying her back to the bed, this time with her head amonst the pillows. She felt his hand on her thigh, his calloused fingers running along the curve of her hip. He had often tried to touch her in such a way before. Nothing more than merely touching her beyond her hands or to grip her side; almost every time previously she had thwarted his attempts with a swipe or rough squirm to free herself.

This time she allowed him to linger as he pleased.

Partly as a test for herself, would she truly like it after all? She cupped his face in her hands as she raised her lips to his. For a moment she wondered how much wine she had drunk at their meal, but found it had been no more than usual. No she could not blame her actions or her thoughts on wine. She could blame them on nothing more than her conscious changing. She favored life with her husband, that much she had settled before, but now…in that moment she found herself for the first time desiring her husband. Desiring his touch.

His admiration of her mind and voice, had in turn spurred her desire of his affection.

Could it truly be she not only favored her life with her husband, but favored her husband?

Their embrace lasted while Gisla was lost in her thoughts, for the first time finding it difficult to maintain them while her husband’s hands, allowed for the first time, explored the different curves and unknown surfaces of her person. He had broken the kiss once more for a breath, Gisla expected him to return shortly but his actions differed. Swiftly, his hands gripped her and the room was turned right side up.

Gisla found herself sitting atop her husband’s stomach. She let out a breath, her hair falling about her face as she looked down upon him. He showed a breathless smile at her confused expression and raised a brow as she moved to sit up. Her hands pressed against his chest as she caught her breath enough to speak.

“Rolf…put us right.” She insisted, moving to try and lay down once more before her husband’s grip prevented her from doing so.

“No, I wish for you to stay.” He replied.

“Do not be ridiculous.”

“I am not. I wish for us to stay as such.” He insisted, raising his hand towards her and leaning up in an attempt to kiss her again.

“Why?” Gisla questioned, not yet moving.

“Why?” Rollo asked, laying back down to look up at her. His hand moved from her hip to rest upon her thigh, “Because I wish to watch you ride me like a stallion.” He replied simply.

He was feeling very bold this night, her husband was. She did not know how to react to his words. She at once felt like striking him but that was for the embarrassment he caused her. Did all husbands speak to their wives as such?  She could not in that moment look him in the eyes and thus stared at the pillow to the side of his head.

“No…no…it is not proper.” Gisla insisted with a slow shake of her head. She had no hope of forcing him back to how they had been, her was much too large for that.

“Not proper?” Rollo chuckled, his gaze still on her.

“It is suggested…” Gisla insisted, her gaze now above her as she trailed off.

“Suggested? Suggested by who? Your church?” Rollo questioned, sounding rather amused, “Is your church going to walk through that door?” He asked.

“No.” Gisla replied with a sigh, “And I did not say it was the church…”

“Then who is going to know?” He asked in a whisper. “If you do not want to….or if you do not think you can do so…”

Her jaw clenched to one side before she looked down at him again. She merely stared at him a moment before her features relaxed.

“You truly wish…to do so like this? You do not feel it wrong…for me to be above you?” Gisla questioned, raising a brow.

A smile pulled at her husband’s lips, “No, my wife…I encourage it.” His hand gave a gentle squeeze on her thigh.

“Very well,” She replied simply, as if he had merely asked her to fetch him something.

“If you do not think you can, I will help…” He insisted, moving his free hand towards her thighs.

“No, I can do it.” Gisla replied stubbornly, pushing his hand aside; causing a chuckle to escape his lips. She looked at him quickly, which to her satisfaction quieted him.

She moved her own hand to her thigh, pulling up her shift as she moved herself back from his stomach. Her husband, it seemed, had needed only their tussling on the bed to harden himself. It was no surprise to her. She had felt him before they even reached the bed, and in times before saw him stiffen with even less contact. She often wondered how he did it. It was rather curious since she herself had only just felt the inklings of desire for him.

She took a deep breath and after glancing down at him she looked to meet his gaze. This was much more than the simple kiss he had asked of her before. For some time she had thought in dread at the idea of this man before her forcing himself within her, even after he had done so the first time. But now he had asked for her to take that power from him. He lay beneath her as she had done so many times before to him, and he waited for her to take him. She felt a pinching feeling in her chest as this realization struck her.

Her fingers tightened against his chest as her other hand left her shift, aiding in her endeavor as she lowered herself to her husband. She felt him at a gentle touch at first, pausing only a moment before continuing. She heard her husband muttering something and looked up to see his gaze no longer on her but his eyes closed. She bit down on her lip, feeling his grip tighten on her hip.

“Back up.” She heard her husband groan, his hands pushing back against her hips. Her brow creased for a moment before she realized he was instructing her. She moved her hips with his movement, resisting the urge to scold him for commanding her in such away. This determination dissipated as the sensation caused by the mere movement spread through her.

She lowered both hands to his chest, balancing herself as she moved her hips forward again. For some time Rollo kept his hands to her hips, instructing her with gentle presses and pulls. She became enthralled by his reaction to her. His eyes remained closed, his chest was given to rising and falling after a held breath. Eventually, one hand wandered from her hip to press just below her chest. Despite her insistence that biting ones lip was horridly undignified Gisla found herself doing so harder than she thought possible in that moment.

“Gisla…” Her name fell breathless from her husband’s lips. She looked down to see a smile on those same lips. It was an odd feeling, to know that such a reaction was caused from her own actions; and that she herself felt proud in it. She had not deviated from the rhythm her husband had started, and felt a shock when his hips bucked to meet her own. An audible gasp escaped her and stayed to silently part her lips around it. He mimicked the action once more and she found herself moaning in response.

She had done so before from his actions, as much as she would deny it. Yet, this now felt entirely new, different now that she resisted the urge to suppress any recognition that her own body responded to her husband’s as she had before. His hand under her chest rose and was quickly met by her own covering it. She took a deep breath, for a moment forgetting she was responsible for the movements of her own hips. Her hand slid from his to the lace about her neck. Blindly she pulled at the lace, allowing her shift to loosen.

She lowered her hand again, replacing it against her husband’s chest as his hand seemed to do the same to hers. She could feel his fingers over her breast, but they only lingered for a moment before his hand slid to grip under her arm. His movements’ altogether stopped for a moment before just as swiftly as he had before, he moved from within her and turned them over again, and once more Gisla was beneath him.

A gasp of surprise left her in a sharp breath.  She felt his hand on her thigh, and raised her leg under it having known him to take such actions before. Her eyes were only able to glance at him briefly before her husband’s lips were pressed to her neck once more. She felt his hips meet hers and to her own surprise a moan of pleasurer, deeper than she had ever released, pooled forth from her as her husband moved within her once more.

She took a deep breath, moving her hand from the pillow to her side and into his hair. It was fortunate her fingers had so delicately wrapped about his locks for in the next instant he had thrust to her once more.  It was as If being dunked under water and allowed to briefly break the surface without a full gulp of air before being dunked once again. She caught pauses of mere content, before a movement from her husband sent a wave of pleasure, the likes of which she had not known before, rushing from its source to every inch of her being.

She had lost all attempts at thought or reason. Every judgement of herself or her husband. Nothing was comprehendible, or worth the effort. She fell under his touch, only for a moment resisting his flood of attention to grip his face once more between her hands and kiss him. Her body rose to press to his, her fingers gripped his hair. Yet, all too soon she was unable to even hold herself against him. Her lips broke from his, hovering for a moment before her head pressed back against the pillows.

Another moan rushed from her, soon to be met with another not even before the first had completely ceased. Her brow creased, her lips parting in anticipation of another rush that caught in her throat only to be met by another that passed through to another moan. This was entirely new. Nothing had ever passed through her body such as this and had she been well enough of mind she would have thought herself possessed. She felt her body all at once push her husband away and pull him nearer.  

She had not even noticed her husband’s own returns of deep groans against her neck. Nor had she noticed when for a brief moment he had paused above her, green eyes watching her with adoration. She had curled her other leg against his hip, only to lower it once more as her heel pressed firmly into the mattress. Finally, she felt her body at once relax, and still she could not catch her breath. Her husband still moved within her, although not with as much force.

He moved down to catch her lips with his. His teeth briefly brushed over her lip before kissing it again, only to pull away. Their lips hovered ever near as he groaned again, his forehead pressing against hers as she felt the only familiar feeling of the encounter. Her husband’s grip tightened, and she knew his seed had been spilt. Still he moved within her as he always did, but only for a thrust or two more before he finally pulled himself from within her.

His gaze looked to her features, yet she had closed her own eyes. He smiled to himself before moving to lay on his back beside her, letting out a deep breath. He did not know what to expect from his wife now, for he knew that had been different than before. He had not been with her in such a way. For her to respond to him, react to him as if she too desired to partake in their ‘duty’. For a moment he wondered if she was going to ignore the entire encounter and continue as she often did after they laid together, this was corrected when he felt a movement from the other side of the bed.

“What did you do?” She questioned as she rose to sit up.

“What did I do?” He responded, merely turning his head to look up at her.

“That was…different than before, it had not felt like that before. You did something different.” Gisla insisted looking to him. Despite his best intentions, a chuckle escaped his lips.

“Was it a good different?” He questioned.

“I…I suppose.” She replied, laying back down, her gaze resting on the ceiling above her. She had not thought to fix her shift as it lay open, or her hair that was strewn about the pillows.

“What did it feel like?” He questioned further, his gaze staying on her. He watched as her fingers rose above her gaze to briefly brush against each other.

“A crossbow.” She said simply.

“A crossbow?” He asked, raising a brow.

“When a crossbow is fired…you pull on the tension…and then you hold…and you tighten…and hold…and then finally release. I felt like a crossbow.” Finally, she lowered her hands and turned her gaze to rest upon her husband, “Is that how it is supposed to feel?”

“Yes.” He told her with a nod, a smile spread on his features.

“I had thought I had been lied to.” She admitted, turning to look up at the ceiling once more. “I was told…that carnal knowledge of another…whether married or not could spur a sinful nature, and that sex outside of marriage was so common that…thousands would burn in hell for such a sin and I always wondered what sort of act could be so desirable that one would choose such a fate.” Gisla explained, “And even after…the first time…I thought…who would burn in hell for this?”

Her husband chuckled once again, and this time his hand reached out to brush gently against the back of hers that lay to her side. “And now?” He questioned.

“I would not burn in hell for it.” She said simply, which amused him even more. She turned to look at her husband, she had not heard him laugh so much in all their time together. “Yet…it was better than before. I believe…it is because I…I have found favor in you.”

Her husband’s brow raised again. His eyes trailed over her features, looking for a sign of jest or discouragement before a smile creased along his face once more and he moved closer to her. His lips pressed to hers, and for the first time, there was no force behind it. His lips were gentle, his affection light in physicality but strong in manner. Slowly his lips parted from hers and his gaze came to rest on her own.  In his mind was nothing but admiration.

“That does not mean I wish to lay with you again tonight.” His wife muttered, and instantly his admiration turned to amusement.

“I would not tempt such a thing.” He assured her, brushing his nose against her cheek in a new form of affection.

Gisla shifted to burrow under the furs and blankets that adorned their bed. Her husband waited patiently until she had settled before he too threw back only the top most blanket and covered himself. His arm instantly wrapped over her form, and not a muscle of her body stiffened to his touch. In truth, she relaxed her back against his chest as her own arm wrapped about his arm against her chest.

Contently they laid for some time, until Gisla, unable to allow her favor to shine too brightly, insisted she was too warm. With a groan her husband moved from her, only to feel the top fur she huddled under land on his person after being thrown from her. He moved the fur to the bed behind him and once more took his place wrapped over his wife.


End file.
